


build-a-boyfriend?

by kunimi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Build-A-Bear but make it frogs, Canon Compliant, College, Getting Together, M/M, Retroactive First Dates, bg kiyoyukie, bg kuroaka, semi kuroo and akaashi are also mentioned, so obviously i capitalised on that, there are no more BAB factories in japan but there WERE in their first yr of college
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:27:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29997285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kunimi/pseuds/kunimi
Summary: “Surprises are good for ya,” he says, which is clearly a nonfactual statement, backed up by absolutelyzeroevidence. “Anyway, it’s fine, we’re here.”Kiyoomi looks up, and frowns deeply.Hereturns out to be a Build-A-Bear factory.“I didn’t even think we had these in Japan,” Kiyoomi says, completely nonplussed.“There’s not many,” Osamu says, and then, with the air of someone who is completely aware his next words are going to lead to strong protest and still fully intends to say them anyway: “Let’s go in!”“What?” Kiyoomi asks, vaguely horrified, but Osamu takes advantage of his utter bafflement at this turn of events and pulls him inside.or: how to go to ikebukuro and score yourself a boyfriend, a stuffed frog, and a possibly permanent blush: a guide by sakusa kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Osamu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 66
Collections: 🐶🍙 omigiri fanfic collection





	build-a-boyfriend?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yakus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yakus/gifts), [pasupare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasupare/gifts).



> felt like i owed repentance for the last omigiri fic (though that series has only got happy updates to go now lmao) and then iris told me you can make frogs at the build-a-bear factories and i googled it and found out the last ones in japan closed in 2015, _after_ omigiri's first year of college, and immediately went _first year shenanigans_ , lost my mind and smashed this out - i wrote 1.7k of this at 3am yesterday and the rest of it between 2-7am today fdshkjshkja. that is the only excuse i have for why a fic inspired by build-a-bear/frogs turned into 6k
> 
> tbh i go back and forth a lot on where i ideally hc the uni gang attending (osaka and kyoto make most sense) but bc i always have multiple tokyo kids in the omigiri college crew, they're sticking it out in tokyo for this one bc i did not want to make an Official Decision yet hkhjka
> 
> anyway this is for iris & kristin (i have committed most crimes against them, both omigiri crimes and also general jane chaos crimes, so this is my repentance <3 however iris you are still my nemesis and i will defeat u 😤 love u both 🥰 also kristin do not blackmail me for expressing affection, futakuchi would be so disappointed in me 😔) but also omigiri server as a whole – frogs for u all <3 fromigiri rise

“Where are you taking me?” Kiyoomi asks. He’s not quite _dragging_ his feet, because he’s already taller than Osamu and he’d probably actually manage to slow them down if he did, but he’s not walking with any speed. He can’t help it, though. His eyes are too busy being fixed to Osamu’s hand, wrapped around his wrist, to focus on walking with his usual intent.

They’re in Namjatown, which Kiyoomi would have sworn up and down he’d _never_ go into – and for the first eighteen years of his life, that had been true. He’d never even gone with Motoya as a child, refusing point-blank – though he’d made it up to him later by going to Sanrio Puroland with him. Admittedly under duress, but still.

Kiyoomi resolves not to tell Motoya about this venture, at least not until he’s got some sort of leverage over his cousin to mediate the inevitable teasing he would be subjected to: _oh, so you’ll go if it’s_ Osamu _who asks? But not me, your own cousin, whose young hopes and dreams rode on our attendance? I see how it is._

Even in Kiyoomi’s head, his cousin is extremely dramatic.

He’s got a point, though. While, technically, some of their other friends are in the area, Kiyoomi is perfectly aware that the only reason he’s in attendance is because of the boy tugging him by the wrist.

It’s just… Kiyoomi didn’t have it in him to say no, not when Osamu was looking at him like that. Excited, yeah, but hopeful too. Like it really _mattered_ if Kiyoomi said yes – like even though Shirofuku and the others had agreed easily, he was still waiting for Kiyoomi to say yes too. Holding out hope for him.

In the face of that, how could Kiyoomi say no?

That’s his only explanation for how he’s been dragged to:

  1. a cinema, where a massive box of popcorn was pressed into Kiyoomi’s hands as Shirofuku giggled in the background.
  2. a clothing store—admittedly not by Osamu this time, but by Semi, on the lookout for new jackets for the band while Shimizu was visiting and able to rein in Shirofuku’s more food-related ideas—which mostly involved him sitting on a bench in store, watching Shirofuku and Semi’s outfit reveals with a small smile playing at his lips, trying not to react too much to Osamu’s warmth bleeding into his side as Osamu leaned against him, expression drawn into a frown as he valiantly battled Duolingo.
  3. a photo booth, pulled in by a grinning Osamu, challenge written all over his expression; Kiyoomi had fallen into it, like always.



And now they’re in Namjatown, which is… not actually that surprising, considering he’s friends with Osamu and Shirofuku. Really, he reflects, it’s probably more surprising that they _haven’t_ been here already this year. Shirofuku’s come before, of course, as a Tokyo native, but Kiyoomi’s kind of surprised that Osamu hadn’t blown off classes in his first week to come. Not that Osamu’s a bad student – he just _really_ hates math.

(“How’d you handle it in high school?” Kiyoomi asks, watching in amusement as Osamu drops his head into his textbook with a groan. He’s glad Osamu’s too busy getting intimate with the pages to look up, because he can feel the fondness creeping over his expression, and he’s a little too tired to school it back into neutrality. It’s a troublingly frequent occurrence nowadays – being unable to bite back smiles around Osamu, whether they’re amused, exasperated or something even harder to parse, like unfiltered affection bubbling over the lines of his ribs.

“‘Tsumu helped,” Osamu mumbles into the page about the Euclidean algorithm. “I’d help him with English, and Japanese literature – he’s not patient enough to listen to people, so he sucked at close reading homework – and he’d explain this shit to me.” There’s a beat. Two. “Fucker,” Osamu says with a sigh. It sounds like _I miss him_.

Kiyoomi watches him in silence for a moment. Then: “Here,” he says, leaning forward, tugging Osamu’s sheet of mathematical workings towards him. Osamu twists his head, lying with his cheek flat on the textbook page so he can fix both his eyes on Kiyoomi. “You just have to find the quotient, so…”)

“It’s just up here!” Osamu says, which makes Kiyoomi frown.

“That’s not an answer,” he mutters, and Osamu throws him a grin over his shoulder.

“Surprises are good for ya,” he says, which is clearly a nonfactual statement, backed up by absolutely _zero_ evidence. “Anyway, it’s fine, we’re here.”

Kiyoomi looks up, and frowns deeply.

 _Here_ turns out to be a _Build-A-Bear_ factory.

“I didn’t even think we had these in Japan,” Kiyoomi says, completely nonplussed.

“There’s not many,” Osamu says, and then, with the air of someone who is completely aware his next words are going to lead to strong protest and still fully intends to say them anyway: “Let’s go in!”

“What?” Kiyoomi asks, vaguely horrified, but Osamu takes advantage of his utter bafflement at this turn of events and pulls him inside.

To put it politely, it’s carnage. And Kiyoomi’s spent half the day inside a theme park, two-thirds of which is food-themed, with _Miya Osamu and Shirofuku Yukie_. It’s a pretty high bar of chaos to clear, and yet this home of faux-taxidermy and wailing children has managed.

“Hello,” a vaguely harassed-looking employee greets them. Everyone else around them seems to be speaking in exclamation points, so Kiyoomi takes a moment to be grateful that their Build-A-Bear assistant has managed to resist the urge. Then he does a double take, and peers closer, scrutinising the employee’s face.

“Shiratorizawa’s blocker?” he asks, taking in the tired set to the eyes and the permanent bedhead – though hardly the worst Kiyoomi’s ever seen, considering his apartment neighbour is _Kuroo Tetsurou_. Last he’d seen of him today, he’d been following Akaashi out of Namja Gyoza Stadium. Kiyoomi hopes it was to a hairdresser.

“Kawanishi,” Osamu greets at the same time, and Kiyoomi gives him a suspicious glance. “Kawanishi’s my neighbour,” Osamu explains. “He’s normally asleep when you guys are over, though, or hiding.”

“Hiding,” Kiyoomi echoes flatly.

“Well, yeah, I went to high school with Semi-san,” Kawanishi says, rubbing the back of his neck. Despite the gesture normally indicating nervousness, his tone is bored. “That kouhai who sasses him and makes up the basis of, like, a third of his songs? That’s my best friend.”

“I didn’t know that,” Osamu says, sounding surprised.

Kawanishi shrugs. “It’s not a loyalty thing,” he explains. “I just refuse to get in the middle of that. Too much effort. Unless they’re being fucking idiots still in three months, and then I guess I will, because I’m not gonna sit through three more years of this.”

A laugh is startled out of Osamu, and Kiyoomi pretends it doesn’t set his entire chest on fire.

“Anyway,” Kawanishi says, “Build-a-Bear is so pleased to welcome you to our hallowed halls.” He gestures towards the wall full of soft toy materials with the same level of enthusiasm he had used when greeting them – none at all. “Please follow me and choose a skin.”

“That’s gotta be the worst name for a soft toy component I’ve ever fuckin’ heard,” Osamu mutters, but he makes to follow Kawanishi towards the wall. He pauses when he notices Kiyoomi isn’t moving, his hand still around Kiyoomi’s wrist. His expression softens as he looks at him. “Listen,” Osamu says, his finger rubbing at the skin of Kiyoomi’s wrist in a way that makes Kiyoomi’s entire being hyperfocus on that one place of contact. “If ya hate it, we don’t have to stay.” His lips quirk up on the left – a wry, slightly resigned thing. “I just thought it might be fun, but it’s not a big d—”

“No,” Kiyoomi finds himself saying, cutting Osamu off before he could finish that sentence. Kiyoomi is suddenly aware that he really, _really_ doesn’t want to hear it end. Doesn’t want to be the reason for that tone of Osamu’s voice – that expression on his face, like the excited boy from this morning suddenly got doused in relentless reality.

It’s not that Osamu is impractical – if anything, he’s one of the most grounded people Kiyoomi’s ever met. It’s just that Kiyoomi doesn’t want to ever put that mingled understanding and disappointment on Osamu’s face.

“It’s fine. Let’s go,” Kiyoomi says, and then he moves past Osamu, following Kawanishi. He shifts his wrist in Osamu’s hold as he does so, catching Osamu’s wrist with his hand as he moves. It’s a little awkward, but there’s something thrilling about the dual contact; both their wrists in each other’s hand.

He thinks he hears Osamu’s breath hitch behind him, but he doesn’t have time to wonder, because suddenly they’re both standing in front of Kawanishi.

“We have many skins,” Kawanishi intones. “A veritable jungle of animals at your choosing.”

Kiyoomi frowns. He glances at Osamu. “What were you hoping for?” he asks.

“I thought we could do it together,” Osamu says easily, as if that’s not grounds for Kiyoomi’s heart to give out. He can hear Kuroo’s voice in his head: _Kiyoomi-kun, that’s absolutely not platonic behaviour. Go get your man!_

He squashes his mental Kuroo, taking great satisfaction in pushing down his hair, then looks closely at Osamu.

“I’ll pay, it’s my idea, I just – I dunno, I thought it might be fun,” Osamu says. Kiyoomi is starting to question whether Osamu’s idea of fun lines up with that of anyone else in the world, but his heart is fluttering in his chest.

He ignores this, and turns to Kawanishi. “What’s the cheapest skin?” he asks. Osamu makes a weird noise next to him, something between a snort and a protest, but Kiyoomi ignores this. He may have never been to one of these places before, but he’s _heard_ of them, and he knows they’re fucking expensive. Osamu is a college student, and he has dreams to save up for. Kiyoomi will not have him spending a small fortune on what is essentially a friendly bonding experience; not when Kiyoomi would always voluntarily spend time with him, doing something completely free.

Kawanishi glances at Osamu for a second, then turns to the shelf. Moments later, he hands Kiyoomi some floppy, fluffy green fabric. Kiyoomi stares at him, then shakes it out.

“It’s a frog,” he says.

“Yes,” Kawanishi says. “They’re on special right now.”

It’s kind of perfect, actually. For reasons Kiyoomi can’t explain—and he was _there_ —frogs are a recurring theme with him and Osamu, at least since attending university together. Not so much in high school, unless you counted the Itachiyama volleyball uniform. Which Kiyoomi does not. Obviously.

Just yesterday, Osamu had texted Kiyoomi a photo of Shirofuku standing by a pond, cooing over two frogs. His caption had read _she found us_ , which makes absolutely _no_ sense and shouldn’t have made Kiyoomi’s lips twist with fondness, and yet.

And yet.

He’s suddenly very aware of Osamu’s eyes on him, and he banishes all thoughts of frogs, be they actual frogs or just the ridiculous keychain Osamu won for him when Kuroo dragged them all to the arcade.

(“For you,” Osamu says, brandishing it with a small grin playing at his lips. Kiyoomi frowns down at it – it’s small, but covered in some sort of soft material—maybe felt?—that makes him immediately think about how many dust particles could catch on its skin. Its eyes are small glassy beads, and it’s _winking_ at him.

There are so many reasons to be frowning.

But then he glances up at Osamu again, and sees the patient warmth in his eyes. The earnestness of them, as if this is some sort of award he’s presenting Kiyoomi with at some fancy ceremony, instead of a shitty frog in the middle of an arcade at 10pm.

 _No thanks_ hangs on the edge of his lips, but instead he thrusts out his hands, waiting for Osamu to deposit his gift. He decidedly does not feel the skin prick where Osamu’s fingers brush against his palm, skimming the length of his fingers before pulling back.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi mutters, a quick thing, sprung forth from misbehaving lips. He can’t tell if they want to frown, smile or maybe just part, as if in invitation, but he fights against whatever the urge is. All of those options sound dangerous.

He closes his fingers around the keychain, then slips it into his pocket – the deep one, with the zip around the entry, where it’s in no danger of falling out. He resolutely does not look at Osamu, but from the corner of his eye, he can tell his smile is a hazard to Kiyoomi’s health.)

“Okay,” Kiyoomi says, clearing his mind of frogs and dangerous smiles from boys who slip under his skin without warning, quick and quiet in the nights that pass as they navigate these years together. “We’ll take the frog.”

“Awesome,” Kawanishi says, lacking all the enthusiasm normally accompanying the word. “So, next is _Hear Me_ , which—”

“Oh, I wanted to do this,” Osamu says unexpectedly. He glances at Kiyoomi. “D’ya mind?”

Kiyoomi gives him a flat look. “This is literally your idea,” he points out. “You should do whatever you want.” Also, he can’t think of anything that sounds less enjoyable than listening to the pre-recorded sounds of frogs croaking or, God forbid, children giggling like they’re living one of those horror movies that makes Osamu spill popcorn over himself. If Osamu has some sound in mind and can save Kiyoomi from such a travesty, then Kiyoomi is completely willing.

“All right, well, Osamu, if you go talk to Suzuki over there—” Kawanishi nods his head towards a girl in the corner, looking suspiciously serene in the chaos of the store, “—she’ll get you sorted with the sound device. We’ll move on to the scents.”

“The what?” Kiyoomi demands incredulously as Osamu nods, giving them both a thumbs up as he walks backwards towards Suzuki. It’s an incredibly dorky gesture. Kiyoomi is utterly horrified to find it endearing.

“I’ll level with you—you’re not going to be able to smell most of these,” Kawanishi says, though Kiyoomi doesn’t fail to notice that his voice has dropped to a murmur. He supposes this isn’t the sort of spiel Kawanishi is meant to give customers. “There’s a few, though… What kind of smells do you like?”

 _Disinfectant,_ Kiyoomi almost says, but he’s a little worried they might actually have that. He doesn’t want Osamu’s frog to smell like disinfectant from the outset, considering it’ll probably end up smelling like it once Kiyoomi forces him to clean it in the next 4-6 weeks.

“Citrus,” Kiyoomi says, and does not think about how the scent of Osamu’s shampoo had filled his head when Osamu had leant on his shoulder earlier, during his battle with the Duolingo owl.

“Like, orange, or—” Kawanishi starts, then pauses. Kiyoomi very deliberately does not look at Osamu, but something in Kawanishi’s expression shifts anyway. “Ah,” he says. One syllable, but so full of words that Kiyoomi refuses to hear. “Got it.”

Kiyoomi scowls furiously as Kawanishi reaches for a packet from the shelf behind him, labelled LEMON-LIME and decorated with unreasonably joyful versions of said fruits. He doesn’t say anything, though, because – well. Kawanishi guessed right.

“Sorry,” Osamu says, suddenly appearing at Kiyoomi’s elbow. If Kiyoomi was Hoshiumi, he thinks he would startle and bury said elbow in Osamu’s stomach. As it is, he just breathes in deeply and slides him a sidelong glance in greeting.

“It was really hard to find a place quiet enough to get the sound sorted, but we’re good,” Osamu continues, handing a small item over to Kawanishi – the sound bite, Kiyoomi assumes.

Kawanishi takes it, and drops it into the lining of the frog along with the scent patch. If Osamu notices the chosen scent, he doesn’t say anything.

Kawanishi then fits the frog—Kiyoomi refuses to call it a skin—over a silver tube protruding from what looks like the world’s most colourful incubator. If incubators were filled with terrifying amounts of stuffing instead of babies or bacteria, that is.

“Are you ready for your special friend to come to life?” he asks, with an unexpected amount of cheer in his voice. Kiyoomi does a double take and Osamu’s lips twitch like he’s holding back a laugh. Kiyoomi glances over his shoulder, and notices a small woman with sharp eyes wandering around. She is, at the absolute tallest estimate, literally half Kawanishi’s height.

“Yer boss, huh?” Osamu murmurs, and Kawanishi gives him a tight smile. Osamu laughs. “Yeah, aight, we’re ready – aren’t we, Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi nods. “Absolutely chomping at the bit,” he says dryly. He’s gratified by Osamu’s snort, the small sound dusting over him like a scattering of warmth flaring up in his cheeks.

Kawanishi gives them both a flat look, but gestures towards a pedal on the ground in front of them. “You control the stuffing,” he says. “Who wants the honours?”

“Kiyoomi,” Osamu says before Kiyoomi can say anything. He throws Osamu an incredulous look, but Osamu just quirks his lips up at him in a half-smile.

It’s not an explanation in the slightest, but Kiyoomi very grudgingly steps forward regardless. Par for the course, at this point. He may do something reluctantly, but he’ll _do_ it, if Osamu asks. Within reason, of course, but that’s the terribly, impossibly charming thing about Miya Osamu, the utterly endearing thing that Kiyoomi can’t help but fall into, over and over again – he would never ask for something Kiyoomi would struggle to give. Every time, without fail, he meets Kiyoomi at his boundaries, even the unvoiced ones, and side steps any cracks in the bridge they’re building between them, any planks which could crumble beneath his weight, like Kiyoomi’s idiosyncrasies are so easy to move around. Like they’re not obstructions to knowing Kiyoomi. Like he sees them, and still wants to spend his time with Kiyoomi anyway, even though his apartment is the hub for their odd little collection of college friends, even though he could choose anyone to hang out with.

He keeps choosing Kiyoomi. Mild inconveniences like manning the stuffing pedal at a fucking Build-a-Bear are the least Kiyoomi can do to show that he wants to choose him back.

“Ready?” Kawanishi asks. Kiyoomi sends him a withering look, then steps on the pedal. He watches in mild interest as the frog swiftly bloats up, and takes his foot off just before it’s properly full. Kawanishi gives him a questioning look.

“Osamu likes soft things,” Kiyoomi explains, clearing his throat a little. He does not look at Osamu. “Not too stuffed.”

Kawanishi gives him an exasperated look, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he glances behind Kiyoomi, nodding at Osamu.

“Go pick a heart,” he says.

Kiyoomi blinks, turning around to watch what Osamu’s doing. It turns out the weird stuffing incubator has a massive heart compartment on the side— _how_ he missed that, Kiyoomi has no idea, but he’s going to blame the sheer visual tsunami that is the design of said incubator—and it’s full of small fabric hearts.

“Rub it,” Kawanishi says. “To warm it up.”

Kiyoomi’s about to roll his eyes, but then Osamu _does_. He presses the small heart between his palms and rubs it gently between them, warming it between those slightly calloused, steady hands. Kiyoomi maybe spends more time than he should thinking about them.

“Pump it between your hands, to give it a heartbeat,” Kawanishi says. It’s amazing how clear it is that he’s reciting from a script.

Osamu obliges, though, because of course he does. He’s a reasonable person, and he doesn’t really behave in a way that Kiyoomi would classify as silly—except when arguing with his brother on FaceTime, maybe—but he’s got a playful streak which people sometimes miss. Kiyoomi wonders if it’s come out more in college – he’d never say it, because he thinks Osamu would bristle at the idea that he was somehow less himself when he and Atsumu were side by side, although that’s not what Kiyoomi means. It’s more that he thinks Osamu has loosened up a little since setting out on his own path. He obviously misses his brother, but Kiyoomi wonders if there’s a freedom in not needing to be defined in relation to each other. They’re always twins, no matter where they are, but they don’t need to balance each other out when they don’t have each other to lean on.

Kiyoomi does not think this because he thinks teenage Osamu was lesser, or that he was trapped; he thinks Osamu just has more room to breathe now. Kiyoomi does too.

He’s distracted from his thoughts as Kawanishi says, “Okay, now bring it to life,” and Osamu, instead of blowing on it like Kawanishi is gesturing, presses a kiss to the heart.

What the fuck.

He cups it in his hands, whispering something to it, which is just – ridiculous. Absolutely absurd behaviour.

Kiyoomi is maybe a little endeared, despite himself.

Kawanishi rolls his eyes, but beckons Osamu over. As he approaches, Kawanishi pulls the stuffed frog off the metal pipe, and holds it out to Osamu. With the same kind of care he uses when he’s lifting a sleepy Shirofuku off his couch to lay her down on the spare futon – when he’s making food for his friends, especially Kiyoomi, steady and considerate – he gently places the heart in the opening that Kawanishi shows him. He moves back, going to stand next to Kiyoomi as they watch Kawanishi pull out a needle and spool of thread.

“All right, one of you—or both, I don’t care—come hug it to check it’s stuffed right, and then you guys should go choose clothes while I finish stitching,” Kawanishi says.

“Hug,” Kiyoomi says flatly. “The frog.”

“You don’t think he’s cute?” Osamu asks, sounding amused. There’s a touch of something else to his tone, which makes Kiyoomi’s brow furrow, but he can’t figure out what it is.

“I think dogs are cute,” Kiyoomi points out. “I still don’t go around hugging all of them.”

Osamu laughs, a startled thing. Like Kiyoomi’s managed to surprise it out of him. It makes Kiyoomi’s lips curl in a pleased smile, and he’s suddenly very grateful to be wearing his mask for reasons unrelated to hygiene.

“Yeah, guess we can’t always hug the things we find cute,” Osamu says. His tone is light, but there’s something in his eyes when he flicks his gaze over Kiyoomi’s face that feels distinctly non-casual, and Kiyoomi swallows.

Kawanishi clears his throat, and Osamu gives him a look that Kiyoomi can’t see, but he steps forward and takes the frog in his arms regardless.

“Mm,” he says. “Soft.” He holds it out to Kiyoomi – an offer, not a request.

Kiyoomi hesitates. But he accepts it anyway. He doesn’t really know how to hug a soft toy like this – the closest thing to a soft toy he had as a child was a miniature stuffed Vabo-chan from his grandmother, one that matched Motoya’s, gifted to them both after they started playing volleyball together. But he’s never been one to do things half-way, so he pulls it close to his chest and wraps his arms around it. It feels like holding one of Osamu’s pillows close to his chest when they’re all messing around watching movies – the fabric’s a little softer, a little silkier, but it’s the same level of stuffing. Kiyoomi tries and fails to not feel too satisfied with his timing on the stuffing pedal.

“It’s good,” he says after a moment, handing it to Kawanishi.

“Can you feel the love?” Kawanishi asks. Kiyoomi can’t decide if he’s being watched by his supervisor again or if he’s just being annoying. Osamu’s oddly quiet in response, though, so Kiyoomi gives a half-shrug in his stead.

“Awesome. Now go choose your clothes,” Kawanishi says, waving them off towards the clothing section. “I’ll finish up this delicate surgical procedure.”

Osamu rolls his eyes, but tugs on the end of Kiyoomi’s sleeve.

“C’mon, let’s get some fancy threads.”

“It’s a _frog_ ,” Kiyoomi says, but he follows Osamu, like always.

“He’s a respectable gentleman,” Osamu says, coming to a stop in front of a shelf full of bow ties.

“He’s a he now?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Yeah, I’m terrible with girls’ names,” Osamu says distractedly, looking closely at a pink bow tie. It’s studded with Swarovski crystals, according to the branding on the label.

“Absolutely not,” Kiyoomi says firmly, putting his hand up like a barrier between Osamu’s eyes and the undoubtedly expensive item. “It’s— _he’s_ a frog, not a spouse. You don’t need to get him something like that.” Osamu pouts, but moves slightly back from the Swarovski bow tie, much to Kiyoomi’s relief. He’s trying to ignore how cute that pout is when he says: “And what about me?”

“Hm?”

“You’re terrible with girls’ names. What about me?” Kiyoomi asks. He has no investment in naming this frog, beyond the fact that something in his chest ricochets at the thought of being able to do it _with_ Osamu, but he’s willing to talk about almost anything to distract him from that pout.

It backfires, though, because the look Osamu fixes on him now is _so_ much worse. It’s warm. Bright. So fucking fond that Kiyoomi doesn’t know how to stand in the light of it.

“You’re terrible with naming anythin’,” Osamu says. His voice is so full of laughter that Kiyoomi almost can’t stand it. He’s good with steady things, has always known how to navigate these starry-eyed crushes he gets on people he respects, people he wants to win with, people he wants to _beat_ – but it’s like Miya Osamu slipped through the cracks in his walls he didn’t even know were there, and it’s utterly maddening and utterly exhilarating all at once. He’s not used to feeling such _warmth_ in his chest, not for another person, at least not one that took him by surprise. Iizuna-san had endeared himself to Kiyoomi the second he’d pulled out that lint roller, and Wakatoshi-kun is still the person in the world Kiyoomi most wants to beat, but Miya Osamu happened to him entirely by accident, bit by bit, and Kiyoomi doesn’t even know how it started.

“Rude,” Kiyoomi says, even though it’s completely true.

Osamu laughs. “What would you call him, then?” he asks, picking out a velvety bow tie in royal blue and a silky black one with gold accents, holding them side by side to scrutinise them.

“The frog?”

“Mm.”

“Atsumu,” Kiyoomi decides, and Osamu barks out a laugh.

“What? Why?” he asks incredulously. “I said he was a _respectable_ gentleman, Kiyoomi.”

It thuds a little harder in his chest, the use of his name, but Kiyoomi’s used to it now. Mostly. Enough to continue, anyway.

“The tongue,” Kiyoomi says. “Frogs have long ones. Half the snapchats he sends you are just a tongue with a filter. It seems appropriate.”

Osamu chortles. “Your reasoning is pretty good,” he admits. “Still, we’re not namin’ him after ‘Tsumu—I meant it when I said respectable, ya know.” His tone is teasing, and he nudges Kiyoomi lightly in the side.

“All right,” Kiyoomi acquiesces.

“Do ya always name things after people y’know?” Osamu asks curiously. He’s still holding the two bow ties. Kiyoomi points out a satin one, coloured a deep burgundy. Osamu’s eyes light up, and he puts back the other two bow ties to pick it up.

“Only if there’s a good cause,” Kiyoomi says with a shrug. He wrinkles his nose. “My sister got a cat with two patches above his eyes when I was ten. I said she should name him Motoya. I was outvoted, though.”

Osamu laughs again. It’s a nice sound, but Kiyoomi’s more drawn by how frequent it is nowadays. Especially around Kiyoomi.

“I’ll back you up next time you have to name a pet,” Osamu promises.

“Thanks,” Kiyoomi says dryly.

“I reckon this one’s good,” Osamu says, holding up the burgundy one. “Yeah?”

Kiyoomi nods. “Yes. Is that all, or—”

“No way!” Osamu says, sounding determined. “He needs a jacket.”

“A—what?”

“Something smart. Respectable librarian vibes,” Osamu says sagely, which is just ridiculous, but Kiyoomi finds himself looking for the tops and outerwear anyway. He taps Osamu on the shoulder and points to the right section.

“I like this one,” Osamu says. Kiyoomi glances over to see what he’s holding, and immediately rolls his eyes. It’s a sweatshirt, which isn’t inherently a problem, but it’s bright green and covered in yellow bananas. Kiyoomi is very sure about what he’s referencing.

“You’re hilarious,” he says, deadpan, then finds an appallingly orange foxhead jumper in retaliation.

Eventually—after a lot of pointed outfit options, including a passable imitation of the apron Atsumu gave Osamu when he went to college—Osamu pulls out an outfit he’s fully happy with. It’s the burgundy bow tie, a slate grey vest, and—for reasons utterly beyond Kiyoomi—a _pocket watch_.

“Very respectable,” Kawanishi says dryly once they bring their chosen items up to the counter. In front of him sits the frog, as well as a crisp sheet of card. Kiyoomi peers at it.

“Is this a birth certificate?” he demands.

“Well, yeah,” Kawanishi says. “ _Name Me_ is the sixth step of the Build-a-Bear process. Or, in your case, Build-a-Frog.”

“What d’you wanna name it?” Osamu asks. Kiyoomi blinks in surprise.

“I thought we established my names weren’t in the running,” he says.

Osamu shrugs. “I’m curious,” he says.

Kiyoomi glances at the outfit. “Kuroo,” he says, and Osamu makes a face.

“Okay, any options that aren’t people we know?” he asks. He sounds amused, though, even as it’s tinged with light exasperation.

Kiyoomi thinks. “Kaeru-san,” he says finally.

“Frog?” he asks. “You want to literally name it frog?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. Osamu doesn’t laugh this time, but his face lights up with a smile. It’s smaller than most of his grins – certainly smaller than most of his expressions today – but it’s fond. A little resigned, maybe. It’s hard to explain. Kiyoomi doesn’t think he’s resigned in general – oddly, it feels a little like he’s resigned to his fondness. Kiyoomi tries not to think too hard on that. Coping with Osamu’s proximity is difficult enough without adding an unreasonable fount of hope to the mix.

“Kaeru-san it is,” he says, brushing his fingers against the back of Kiyoomi’s hand so quickly that Kiyoomi almost thinks he imagined it.

Kawanishi looks like he wants to say something, but doesn’t, simply writing the chosen name carefully on the certificate.

“All right,” he says. “Kaeru-san is all yours.” He hands Osamu the certificate and the frog. “Time for the final step.”

“Which is?” Kiyoomi prompts.

Osamu points to a sign before Kawanishi can answer. “ _Take Me Home_ ,” Osamu says softly.

Kiyoomi’s heart skips a beat.

Osamu reaches for his sleeve again, and Kiyoomi shifts so that Osamu’s hand closes around the skin of his wrist instead, like how they’d been when they first arrived at the store. It’s not a conscious decision, exactly – it’s deliberate, but he’d made it as a snap decision in the moment. He doesn’t regret it, though. This touch is okay.

This touch is more than okay.

Osamu pauses, and Kiyoomi’s breath hitches in his throat. The moment feels like it’s building bigger between them, which is slightly absurd because they’re standing still in the middle of a _Build-a-Bear_ factory in _Namjatown_ , holding a _stuffed frog_ with a _pocket watch_.

But it feels like it’s building all the same.

Then Osamu suddenly resumes motion, pulling gently on Kiyoomi’s wrist.

They end up outside the store, then outside Namjatown completely, then they’re all the way out in the park.

Osamu stops finally, and turns to face Kiyoomi. He holds Kaeru-san out to him, much to Kiyoomi’s confusion.

“What?” he asks.

Osamu takes a deep breath. “Take him for a sec? I wanna show ya somethin’.”

His accent sounds a little thicker, kind of like he’s nervous. Kiyoomi frowns in confusion, but he accepts Kaeru-san.

“Can ya feel his sound box?” Osamu asks.

Kiyoomi moves his hands over the frog’s chest, until –

“Yeah,” he says, his fingers resting over it.

“Press it,” Osamu suggests. “For me.”

That phrasing does nothing to calm down Kiyoomi’s heart or to clear up his confusion, but he obliges.

Osamu’s voice streams out of Kaeru-san’s chest. It’s a little tinny, a bit smaller than usual, but undoubtedly, irrevocably Osamu’s.

_Hey Kiyoomi! I think we go great toad-gether!_

Kiyoomi stares at Osamu for a long moment. Osamu takes another breath, but meets his eyes square on. He presses the box again, and again, Osamu’s voice streams out: _Hey Kiyoomi! I think we go great toad-gether!_

He doesn’t know what to say.

“He’s a frog,” he manages.

He definitely hadn’t intended on it being that, though.

Osamu lets out a small laugh, though it’s a little less bright than usual. “Yeah, turns out I’m not actually that great with puns. Or maybe it’s just frog ones that defeat me.”

Kiyoomi watches him carefully. “Osamu, what is this?” he asks quietly. He thinks he knows. He can’t think of any other reason Osamu would do or say this, and the little Kuroo and Motoya in the back of his head are screaming the same conclusion in unison, but. He needs to be sure. He’s a direct person, for one thing, but maybe more importantly, he’s never navigated anything like this before.

“I mean, basically what I said,” Osamu says, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “I think we go great together. I like spendin’ time with ya, and I think you like spendin’ time with me too.” He pauses for a beat, then says, “I hope ya do, anyway.”

“I do,” Kiyoomi affirms, not hesitating for a moment. “I spend more time in your apartment than mine, despite mine being cleaner, and it’s not just because there’s less Kuroo at your apartment. There isn’t even, really, now that he’s always flirting with Akaashi over there.”

Osamu blinks, but there’s the hint of a smile forming on his lips.

Kiyoomi wants to see a full smile in bloom there.

Wants to know what it tastes like.

It’s not a new want, exactly, but this is the first time it’s felt like the possibility is close enough to touch.

“Yeah?” Osamu asks.

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi says firmly. He waits a beat, then two. “So, this—” he holds out Kaeru-san.

Osamu exhales. “It’s a confession, I guess,” he says. “Well, also I wanted you to have it, but – I dunno. I figured. Frogs.”

“Frogs,” Kiyoomi echoes. It’s ringing in his ears, but not in a bad way. Nothing is happening in a bad way right now, actually.

“I just… really like you, Kiyoomi,” Osamu admits, and _oh_. Oh. That cracks in Kiyoomi’s chest, breaking through the solid foundations he’s shored up there, creating a fissure, affection swelling over through it.

“Oh,” Kiyoomi says. He looks at Kaeru-san, then back at Osamu. He shifts the frog so it’s being held in one hand, and with his spare hand, he reaches for Osamu’s free hand.

Osamu’s eyes are a little wide, but they’re crinkling at the corners when he looks up from their interlocked hands to meet Kiyoomi’s eyes.

“Is that a yes?” he asks.

Kiyoomi presses his thumb down against Kaeru-san’s chest. _Hey Kiyoomi! I think we go great toad-gether!_

“That’s so corny,” Kiyoomi says, trying to grimace and absolutely failing. “But I agree.”

Osamu’s smile is blinding, full of affection and relief, and it makes Kiyoomi’s chest feel so full it hurts. He shifts his hand so he’s holding Kaeru-san by the arm, and uses his thumb and forefinger to unlatch his mask, tugging it down his face. They’re far away enough from the crowds that Kiyoomi doesn’t mind doing it anyway, but in this moment particularly, he wants Osamu to see his face.

For once, he wants Osamu to see the smile he can feel tugging his lips up at the corners.

“You’re so pretty, what the fuck,” Osamu mutters, and Kiyoomi snorts at him incredulously. Has Osamu _seen_ himself?

“Can I kiss you?” Kiyoomi asks. From the way Osamu chokes on absolutely nothing, he assumes it’s a surprise, but Kiyoomi’s too caught on the idea to care about being unpredictable. “I would really like to. If that’s all right.”

Osamu’s eyes are full of mirth. “Ya gonna kiss me and turn me into yer prince?” he asks teasingly, inclining his head towards the frog.

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I don’t need a prince,” he says. He knows it’s a joke, but this seems like a good moment to make this clear. “I just want you.”

Osamu’s breath hitches. He leans in, clearly telegraphing his intent to kiss Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi leans in too. He wants this. The kiss, yes, but everything else too – everything Osamu is offering him, everything Osamu wants to _give_ him. Kiyoomi craves it so much he could bleed with it.

Osamu tastes like mint, and a little like gyoza. It’s kind of gross if he thinks about it too much.

Kiyoomi wants more anyway.

So he leans in again, and again, and again.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of this.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns)
> 
> the twitter post for this fic is [here!](https://twitter.com/kurokenns/status/1370443356954710019)
> 
> IRIS MADE ART FOR THIS FIC (me @ iris: u r insane for this) and you can find it [here!!](https://twitter.com/kuehjpg/status/1371044252931686400) i'm crying PLEASE check it out and look at osamu's expression... no wonder kiyoomi is constantly thinking about him and constantly furious. i relate
> 
> [slaps fic] this bad boy can fit so many headcanons in here <3 
> 
> thank u migz for the toad pun!
> 
> also just ftr, bc i know weird inaccuracies can be annoying, so to like. address it: this is mostly accurate with build-a-bear (from both memory and way too many google tabs, haha) but i played fast and loose with scents, bc i just. don't know what to do with the idea of osamu using cotton candy shampoo


End file.
